Smoke and Ashes

Scarlet's POV

I jerk awake, gasping for air.

My lungs burn as if I’ve just surfaced from deep underwater. I clutch the sheets tightly, disoriented, and stare around the room as the last tendrils of the dream slip from my grasp. My hand instinctively stretches to the other side of the bed—Cole’s side—seeking warmth, seeking him.

But it’s cold.

The sheets are smooth, untouched. He’s been gone for a while.

I blink rapidly, trying to shake the heavy weight pressing into my chest. He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t leave a scent. Nothing to say he’d even been there at all. The space beside me is empty in every way.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to move. The sheets come off the bed slowly, and I gather them into my arms like they might anchor me to something solid. With a deep breath, I press forward. I tie my wild, curly brown hair into a loose bun and step into my day like nothing is wrong.

The nursery is already buzzing with activity when I arrive. Warmth and noise wrap around me—small pups squealing, the soft murmur of lullabies, the chatter of the other omegas. I wave, slipping into the rhythm of it all, letting it distract me.

Being an omega means being a caretaker, and the nursery is where I’ve always found peace. Here, I’m not invisible. Here, I matter. Even if I don’t have a wolf, even if I’m at the bottom of the pack hierarchy, I still have something to give.

Mae is the first to spot me. I can only smile, excited to see my best friend. I hug her as we get close.

“Girly pop! Tell me last night wasn’t tense!” she calls out, her face lit up with mischief.

I let out a quiet laugh and nod. If only she knew.

“It was like two pups fighting over a squeaky toy,” Savannah chimes in, laughing as we all share a moment of levity.

I slip into the task of dressing one of the toddlers as his mother waits nearby. This job is second nature to me. We care for the pups until they’re around two years old—until the parents feel ready to bring them back into the rhythm of the pack. It gives us all time. The mothers to heal. The pups to grow. And us omegas to feel useful.

Cole always tells me I shouldn’t be here. Says a Luna doesn’t need to do “omega work.” But I want to be more than a pretty ornament on his arm. I want to earn my place. I want to matter.

I glance at the clock. Noon.

Usually by now, Cole’s hovering near the doorway, scowling about how I “lower myself” with nursery duties. But he’s not here. Mae notices my searching glance.

“Where’s loverboy?” she teases, raising her brow.

I force a weak smile and shake my head. Something about today feels...off.

“Be nice,” Savannah says, shushing Mae as she nudges her in the ribs.

But Mae’s attention shifts suddenly. “Look,” she whispers, motioning to the window.

Lloyd stands outside, hands in his coat pockets, staring through the glass at one of the sick pups. His expression is—haunted, maybe even pained. The little boy inside the nursery struggles to breathe, the ventilator the only thing keeping his tiny chest rising and falling.

“He’s so creepy…” Mae whispers.

Savannah swats her arm. “He’s still your Alpha’s son. Show some respect.”

I don’t say anything. I just stare.

Something about the way Lloyd watches the child unsettles me. Not in fear, but in confusion. Like he understands the pain. Like he’s searching for something in that tiny, fragile life that he’s lost himself.

I look away quickly, pushing down the odd feeling twisting in my stomach.

Eventually, Lloyd turns and walks off, and the girls return to their quiet bickering. I find comfort in the background noise and let it carry me through the rest of the shift.

At lunch, I head to the kitchen, tying on my apron as I greet the staff. Today, I’m working on a roasted lamb dish—one of Cole’s favorites. I’ve spent weeks trying to perfect it, hoping that something I make might make him smile like he used to.

As I stir the sauce, I hear him.

His voice carries from the hallway. He’s speaking with Beta Rowan. I freeze, heart fluttering. I wait for him to come in. To greet me. To do what he always does—pull me away, tease me, complain that I don’t need to be here.

But he walks right past.

Beta Rowan offers a friendly wave. Cole doesn’t even look at me.

“Trouble in paradise?” one of the kitchen helpers jokes.

I flinch and quickly lower my gaze, pretending to focus on the food. My chest tightens painfully. It’s not like him to ignore me. My mind races through a thousand reasons why.

Was it last night?

Did I do something wrong?

I touch my neck, wincing as I feel the bruise beneath my fingers. The skin is tender, aching beneath the surface. Still no mark. He hadn’t claimed me—hadn’t even come close. And now, he was gone without a word.

‘Maybe I disappointed him,’ I think bitterly. ‘Maybe I cried too much. Or not enough.’

I cut my shift short, too overwhelmed to stay in the heat and questions of the kitchen.

Outside, the meadow behind the pack house stretches wide and golden. The grass brushes my legs as I walk. I find my usual spot and sit in the shade, pulling my knees to my chest. Here, it’s quiet. Here, I can breathe.

I lift my gaze to the house. My eyes drift up to his balcony, and just as I think of him, the door slides open. Cole steps out, tall and confident, as always.

I smile faintly and raise a hand in a gentle wave.

He doesn’t see me.

Or maybe he does.

Either way, he doesn’t wave back. He turns and disappears inside, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoes louder than any sound.

I lower my hand slowly, heart sinking.

Maybe he’s tired. Maybe it’s the stress from Lloyd. Maybe I’ve failed him somehow.

But I can’t believe he’d leave me like this. Not without a word.

Still… that cold spot in my bed doesn’t lie.

And neither does the silence.

I wrinkle my nose.

The air is tinged with cigarette smoke. It isn’t strong, just enough to catch if you’re paying attention—and I always pay attention. I assume it’s a few teenagers sneaking a rebellious moment behind the building. Typical. I creep around the corner, curiosity pulling me along, and peek through the bushes.

But it’s not what I expected.

Lloyd sits alone on a stone bench, a cigarette between his fingers, the ember glowing faintly in the fading light. He stares into the treeline, his expression unreadable. Not angry. Not brooding. Just...far away.

I freeze. My breath catches in my throat. The sight of him, relaxed and alone, is jarring in its quietness.

“I know you’re there, Scarlet,” Lloyd says without looking.

I flinch. I consider pretending I didn’t hear him, ducking away before he sees me—but it’s too late. My cover’s blown. Swallowing hard, I step out from behind the bush. My fingers twist into the hem of my shirt, knuckles white. I hate how easily I shake, how small I feel under his notice.

“Watching me?” he asks, his voice tinged with amusement. “Making sure I don’t torment anyone this time?”

I gasp. “I-I thought you were o-one of the t-teenagers,” I stammer, mortified by how my words tumble over themselves.

He finally turns to look at me.

His eyes are cool, unreadable, and when they settle on me, I feel pinned in place—like he can see through my skin and straight into the mess I am. Lloyd watches me for one heartbeat too long. Then another. My lungs begin to ache.

“That’s good you checked,” he finally says, exhaling a small stream of smoke. “Hate for them to pick up this nasty habit.”

I give a nervous laugh, too high-pitched. He crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and stands slowly, brushing ash off his pants.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

I blink. “For?”

He steps closer. My gaze drops to the ground, but he touches my chin, lifting my face until our eyes meet again. His touch is gentle. Intent.

“For the apology,” Lloyd says quietly, voice thick with something I can’t name. “It means the world to me.”

Something in his tone wraps around my spine like ice and heat at the same time. I should run. Every instinct in my body screams at me to get away. But I can’t move. I can only stare up at him, caught. He had refused it, even said I made him get exhiled.

Then—

A throat clears behind me.

The trance snaps like a twig.

I turn quickly, already knowing what I’ll see.

Cole.

Shirtless. Fuming. His eyes are locked on mine, dark with something furious and possessive. The muscle in his jaw twitches as he glances from me to Lloyd, then back again. I know that look. He’s mad. For the second time in 24 hours.

“Am I interrupting?” he asks flatly.

Before I can answer, Lloyd chuckles. A low, taunting sound.

“Nothing,” he says casually. “I was just telling her I don’t accept her apology unless I get something in return.”

Cole’s teeth clench.

I feel the air change around him, like a storm brewing beneath the surface. Without warning, he grabs me and pulls me into his side, glaring at his brother. His hand is tight around my waist, and his other cups my jaw, forcing me to look at him.

“Unfortunately for you, brother,” Cole growls, “she’s too meek for that.”

His tone shifts, sharp and mocking.

“But last night... she was an animal.”

My heart plummets.

Cole.

I stare at him, horrified, as he casually throws our intimacy on display like it’s ammunition. His voice is smug, cruel. I can’t breathe.

Lloyd doesn’t react. Not outwardly. His eyes darken until they’re nearly black, an unnatural gleam flickering in them. A silent storm brewing.

I gently tap Cole’s chest. “Can we go?” I whisper.

He doesn’t speak. He just grips my shoulders and turns me, guiding me toward the house with mechanical precision. Once we’re in the foyer, he finally lets go.

“I know I haven’t had time all day,” Cole says, tone deceptively calm, “but really, Scarlet? Hanging out with him again?”

“I didn’t—”

“I don’t have time for excuses,” he snaps, voice sharpening. “Stay away from him. End of discussion. We’re not kids anymore. He’s bigger. Stronger. He could kill you now.”

My throat closes up.

I nod silently. What else can I do?

He gives me one last look, unreadable, then turns and walks off toward his room. His retreating figure feels like a door slamming shut behind me.

I linger for a moment, unsure of where to go. Slowly, I turn and glance back outside through the window.

Lloyd—no, Trent—his wolf form now sprawled lazily in the sun-drenched grass. His thick fur rises and falls as he breathes, golden light glinting off his sleek black coat. There’s no menace in him. Just solitude.

I look away and head to my own room.

Cole says he means well that he’s only protecting me. I know that is true.